Following in Her Red Shoes
by brokenflower
Summary: Set during the beginning of the second season. "Growing up, I saw my mother as my hero, my hero in red shoes. I decided long ago to follow in my mother's red shoes...that was before I knew the truth."


Title: Following in Her Red Shoes  
  
Authors: brokenflower AND rwusydney  
  
Disclaimer: If I owned Alias do you really think that Vaughn would be married right now to someone who is NOT Sydney? Don't think so. Blame ABC and Touchstone, and the creators J.J. Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.  
  
Summary: Sydney reflects on the image she has held of her mother and what she always wanted to become. Set around the beginning of the second season.  
  
Classification: Takes place somewhere around the first three episodes of the season when Sydney is still unwilling to see her mother.  
  
Dedicated to Karen Murray for giving me the idea so long ago that she probably doesn't remember giving it to me.  
  
HUGE Special Thanks to Sydney a.k.a. rwusydney who put up with me and this fic for the past year of edits and re-writes. So much of this fic was her doing and for that, she is credited as the co-author (big step up from beta reader). Thanks, Syd!  
  
~  
  
Sydney Bristow sat on the ground, shivering as she clutched the makeshift blanket tightly around her shoulders. She waited for her dad, mulling over the revelation in her head, still unbelieving that it could be possible. Finally, her father pulled up and she stood to meet him.  
  
"What happened to you? The plane is ready to take you to Italy. You need to go now."  
  
" I know. But I needed to see you first. Dad, I just drove a car into the ocean. I knew the police were waiting for me. I used the air from the tires... I was breathing underwater for ten minutes before I started to swim. And as that car started to fill with water, I knew what my mother had done in the same situation. Dad, she could have planned that accident."  
  
" Sydney..."  
  
"It makes sense. She was deceitful. She was cruel, ruthless, and in Rambaldi's prophecy he used details like that DNA sequencing. Dad, I inherited that. I mean, it's either mom or me. I know it's not me."  
  
Jack paused as the revelation hit him too. Sydney took a deep breath and said what they both already knew.  
  
"Mom's alive. I know it."  
  
~  
  
It's weird, watching her like this. She hasn't changed much since I last saw her, still the same defined Russian features, only accentuated with age, the same dignified posture, and the same air of authority.  
  
She looks so.calm I guess is the word for it. She's calm, patient, not showing any signs of stress from being trapped in her cell. If I could be anywhere in the world right now it would be as far from here as I could possibly get. I am here only because it's my job and because I want to put an end to SD-6 once and for all. If Irina Derevko can help to finish this job then I will just have to put aside my personal feelings and treat her like another faceless informant. She is not my mother. My mother died in a car accident twenty-one years ago.  
  
On instinct I check her feet and she is wearing FBI issued slippers. This doesn't surprise me considering the circumstances, but the little girl inside me is disappointed not to find her favorite pair of red leather slip- ons. I remember thinking they must have been very comfortable because out of all the shoes she owned she wore them the most. The way she talked about them I was sure that they possessed some kind of magical power. At the ripe old age of five, I was fascinated by them.  
  
I remember distinctly the way she sauntered into the kitchen one morning. She grabbed her coffee and joined me at the kitchen table where I was already busy eating my cereal. She had this huge smile on her face and she said, "Today is going to be a great day Sydney. I can feel it right down to my red shoes."  
  
I giggled because I knew how the saying really went but I liked her little spin on it. "It's 'toes' mommy," I said as I managed to take my attention away from my cereal.  
  
"I know how the saying goes, silly, but in my case it's these shoes that ensure the day will be good." She winked and I waited just a split second before ducking down under the table.  
  
"Sydney? What are you doing?" my mother asked with a chuckle.  
  
I popped back up and stared at my mother with wide-eyed innocence. "I wanted to see if your shoes were doing magic."  
  
My mother laughed happily at that. "You can't see the magic, darling. You can only feel it. Would you like to try them on?"  
  
I let the spoon drop into my bowl and pushed my chair back so it squeaked loudly on the kitchen floor. "Yes. Please."  
  
At that she was on her feet and sliding out of her red shoes, helping me into them. I didn't care that there was easily 3 inches between my heel and the back of the shoe. In that moment, I knew. Someday I would have some red shoes of my very own.  
  
For years after she died, I would think that if only she had been wearing her red shoes that night then things might have gone differently. That was before I knew the truth, though. It was back when those red shoes symbolized everything I wanted to become.  
  
Growing up, I saw my mother as my hero, my hero in red shoes. And just as the saying goes, I decided long ago to follow in my mother's red shoes. As a teenager I made up my mind to live my life in memory of her and I was determined to keep her legacy alive. I dreamed of the day when I'd meet her again after a long, normal life and be able to say, "See Mom? I never forgot you. I've worked so hard to make you proud."  
  
Anxious to continue on in my mother's footsteps, I began my quest to study English. I entered UCLA at eighteen as an English major intending to become a professor as I believed my mother had been. Always the determined, overachiever I took 20 credits in my first semester and was overwhelmed when I was slammed with a 600 page novel that needed to be finished in two weeks, 4 research papers that needed to be completed by the end of the semester and eight hours of homework to do on my first weekend as a college freshman.  
  
I was living in the all freshman dorm complete with the typical Thursday through Saturday night party schedule but I wasn't having any of the fun. Francie was my roommate and we became instant best friends. It didn't take her long to see that I had gotten myself in way over my head. As time went on and the more I declined her invitations to go with her to various parties from weekend to weekend, the harder it was for her to keep her thoughts to herself.  
  
One Friday afternoon after her last class, Francie came back to our room to find me sitting at my desk amongst a mountain of books. "Wow, I guess you have a lot of work to do again." She didn't seem surprised. "A bunch of us are going to a party over in Hedrick Hall. I really want you to come so save whatever thought provoking analysis of literature you're writing for tomorrow and come with! " She practically danced in anticipation as she said this.  
  
"No, I can't Francie. You can see how much work I have to do," I said gesturing to all the books strewn over my desk. "I can't go out tonight."  
  
"Syd, you're going to run yourself ragged if you keep this up. Maybe.maybe you should drop a few courses. Twenty credits is a little crazy for anyone let alone a first semester freshman."  
  
I sighed and shut my laptop. I knew she was right but I was stubborn and determined in my ways and I wouldn't let her talk me out of my goal to follow the same path my mother took.  
  
"Seriously, you can't keep doing this to yourself," Francie continued when I didn't speak.  
  
"School is important to me."  
  
"Hey, it's important to me too," Francie said a little offended. "But if you keep this up you'll be completely burnt out before you finish your freshman year. You do realize that you have three more years after this, right?"  
  
"Yes, of course I realize that but I plan to go right to grad school from here so the more classes I have under my belt, the better."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Part of the college experience is going out and having fun and getting to know people. As far as I can see, you haven't done any of that. You're coming with me!" she insisted.  
  
For a moment I felt my resolve melt away and I realized I very much wanted to go with her. I'd been at UCLA for 4 months and I'd made exactly one friend, Francie, and since she was my roommate that didn't require very much work. Whenever I had thought about going to college in the past, I'd been excited about meeting people from all walks of life not about doing tons of work. I knew that would, of course, be part of the package but it wasn't what I had looked forward to.  
  
I watched Francie rummage through my closet looking for something for me to wear to the party and then I thought of my mother and those red shoes and my resolve returned. I knew that I'd never have my own red shoes if I quit working hard now. I remembered my mother as an ambitious, hard working, determined and very strong woman. She never wavered from the task at hand just for the purposes of having fun and I knew that if I wanted to make her proud then I had to be the same kind of woman.  
  
"Francie, I'm sorry but I'm just not going to be able to come with you."  
  
She turned away from my closet and looked at me. "What is this about?"  
  
I looked down at my hands because I didn't know what to say. "This is something I have to do," I finally told her. "You wouldn't understand."  
  
She looked hurt as I said these words and I instantly felt awful for saying them. I'm not sure why I didn't sit her down and explain that my education was about living out my mother's legacy. But I think I didn't because I anticipated her saying things like Your mother wouldn't want you to live your life this way.Your mother would be sad to know that you're not having any fun.You have to be your own person, Syd. I knew she would say all the things that little voice in my head was constantly saying since the day I signed up for twenty credits of work I had little interest in pursuing.  
  
Needless to say, it's no wonder I jumped at the opportunity to work for a secret branch of the CIA just two months later. When a man approached me with the chance to save my country, it seemed like the perfect solution at the time because I could keep up my studies and meanwhile throw a little espionage in to mix things up and make life more exciting. The added bonus: the man told me I could be part of making the world a more safe and better place for people to live in and I couldn't imagine anything that would make my mother more proud than that.  
  
The secrets and the lies I was forced to tell quickly became a problem, especially once I met Danny. When he was killed my world was turned upside down and I realized I hadn't been doing anything that would make my mother proud. I'd been working for the enemy and I got the love of my life killed because of my affiliation. I became a double agent to right all the wrongs I had done but that just made it increasingly difficult to follow in my mother's red shoes. I barely had time to do the work required to pass my classes. Every day had become a constant reminder of the fact that my life was anything but normal. I was lost and way off target. I stopped picturing a happy reunion with my mother and could only see her looking down at me in disappointment. Then I found out the truth.  
  
I'll never forget that day and the way my heart was lodged in my throat as I watched all those people file into the room. I hadn't expected the meeting to be so public and I certainly hadn't expected my father to walk in, as my purpose in being there in the first place was to report to Devlin that I believed my father to be an operative for the KGB. I listened patiently as he introduced some of the higher ups in the Agency and sat up straight when he referenced the meeting. In those next few seconds, I hung on my father's every word, possibly paying more attention to him than in all my years as his daughter. In those few moments the entire image I had of my mother shattered, leaving me with nothing but lies.  
  
"When I learned that you had scheduled a meeting with Mr. Devlin regarding my history, I knew that it was time. Let me say in advance that I'm sorry to make this such a public display, but I thought it was important to do this in front of these people because they already know the truth. And because, I didn't think that you would believe me otherwise. Those Cyrillic codes that you found in those books, yes, they were orders from the KGB and yes, they were orders to kill. An agent received those orders and carried them out. Murdered officers of the CIA, including your father, Mr. Vaughn. All this is true. But Sydney, I was not that agent. Your mother was."  
  
~I was not that agent. Your mother was. I was not that agent. Your mother was.~  
  
I remember clutching furiously at my head, trying to stop the echoing of those terrible words, words that shattered every belief I had concerning my mother. I still don't even remember how I managed to return home, everything after those words-it just all became one blur. I paced around my bedroom, desperately trying to hold back my sobs. I knew Francie was just outside the door waiting to rush in and offer what words of comfort she could.  
  
Unfortunately, my efforts not to drag Francie into my storm of emotions failed. I just couldn't stand being in my room surrounded by my mother's things: her books, her pictures, even some of her old clothing occupied the closet. Furiously I stormed over to my closet. In a rage I grabbed the nearest box labeled "Mom's Things" and threw it across the room. It probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, nor the most rational but at the time I could care less. What I really wanted to attack were her infamous red shoes but they were lost in my childhood. Instead, what little was left of her life as Laura Bristow had to satisfy my wrath. So what if I had just destroyed her precious collection of Hubble Figurines, some of which were incredibly rare and sure to be coveted by any collector?  
  
If she wanted them back then she was just out of luck. Life isn't fair. It was about time my mother learned that lesson the way she'd forced me to. I didn't even wait for the ceramic to shatter before grabbing the next box off the shelf. If life were fair then my mother would not have been a secret agent, she would not have left my father and I, and she would not have gone on to become one of the most prominent leaders of organized crime.  
  
If life were fair, I wouldn't work for a sick, twisted man who preaches about bringing justice to the people and fulfilling a patriotic duty when, in reality, he works to break down the very institutions he pretends to preserve. If life were fair, my fiancé would not have been murdered in cold blood for being aware of my occupation. If life were fair, unwritten rules would not dictate who I can and cannot speak to in public. If life were fair, I'd be able to pursue a relationship with the one man who could ease the pain of Danny's death. If life were fair, my best friend would have been there comforting me instead of outside listening to me destroy my room.  
  
I moved onto the books, the books that contained secret orders within the margins. No, they weren't the ones that led to this whole mess because the CIA had those. These were different books, with different orders. The rational side of me told me to turn these into custody as well but my emotion driven side didn't want to open up that can of worms. I was sick of finding out who "Laura Bristow" really was. Francie walked in just as I was in the middle of tearing the second book to shreds.  
  
She stared at me, only breaking her gaze to gawk at the rest of the room. In a mere ten minutes I had managed to do more damage than the forces of nature could hope to accomplish. Glass was broken, paper was torn to shreds, and furniture was overturned. To say the room was in disarray would be an understatement.  
  
Seeing the face of someone who cared, seeing how much I was scaring her was enough to make me stop. Francie pulled me into a hug and I let it all go in her arms.  
  
Later, with a sick feeling in my stomach I made up an excuse that I was upset over Danny. I could only watch in despair as Francie fell for another one of my lies.  
  
I look at my mother now and that feeling of despair is not hidden deep inside me but it is bubbling to the surface. I should be angry since she shot me in the shoulder just a week ago. I should be angry now that I know who she really is. Instead I am filled with sadness because when I look at her, I still feel like the little girl sitting at the breakfast table with her mother, her hero.  
  
How is it possible that at one time she was everything I wanted to become?  
  
She is a woman who is working for the wrong side in the battle of good versus evil. She is the woman who lied for years to everyone who loved her. She is the woman who killed Vaughn's father. She is the woman who has ruined my life, my father's life and the lives of countless others. For many months now I've been well aware of how deep her transgressions run but, as I stand here watching her I still remember her smiling at me as she explained her lucky shoes. I remember with a warm feeling in my heart how many nights she read to me, tucked me into bed promising she'd be there when I awoke. I can still see her standing in our sunny kitchen, baking chocolate chip cookies, humming happy songs under her breath.  
  
And that is what angers me. Irina Derevko is nothing but an evil crime lord who has single handedly taken the memories of my beloved mother and crushed them under the weight of her many sins. It has been many years since I have had a mother in the physical sense but the memories always sustained me. Irina Derevko has made it unbearable for me to remember my mother without feeling guilty and angry and hopeless. Worst of all, she has made me face the ugly truth: I no longer have a mother in any sense.  
  
Anger bubbles inside me as I call, "Guard! Unlock this door!"  
  
He rushes over. "What?!" he stutters.  
  
Out of the corner of my eye I can see the prisoner's uncertainty at being so abruptly interrupted. "Open the damn door!" I bark at the man.  
  
Fumbling he places his hand on the panel next to the glass door and in seconds it is open, allowing me entrance.  
  
"Sydney?" she asks in uncertainty.  
  
I approach her slowly and she begins to back away in fear. I had no idea that the sound of her voice speaking my name again after all these years would cause such anger to radiate within me but it does. Everything happens so quickly after that and suddenly she is on her back clutching her nose in pain and shock. Withdrawing her hand she sees blood dripping from her nose in a steady stream. I kicked her and I realize I don't feel any remorse.  
  
"You are to address me as Agent Bristow," I hiss at her.  
  
I turn on my heel and lift my chin defiantly as people push past me to attend to the woman on the floor. I ignore the stares following me out of the Joint Task Force. It is only twenty minutes later, when I am sitting on a bench in the park, far away from that hell hole that I lower my head in thought. That's when I see it.  
  
My shoes give off a wet shine, the liquid is thick and dark.  
  
Well, look at that. Red shoes of my very own. 


End file.
